


Education

by Tyleet



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brief suicidal ideation, Dubious Consent, M/M, References to Past Child Abuse, Teacher/Student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:35:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyleet/pseuds/Tyleet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Jim had inappropriate sex in high school and one date he knew was not going to get him laid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Education

**Author's Note:**

> Contains graphic underage sex, but there is no romantic teacher/student content while the student is underage. References to past child abuse and brief suicidal ideation.

Here is where it changes: the day after Jim drives his father's car over the edge of a cliff, Frank gives him two options: join his aunt on Tarsus IV, or immediate enrollment in Starfleet Secondary School.

Jim clutches his fist so tightly around the medal for bravery he rescued out of the hall cabinet that the metal edge of the Starfleet icon cuts into his skin. He chooses San Fransisco.

_Fourteen_

Jim loses his virginity the same day he gets a new xenobiology instructor, halfway through freshman year.

His former Xenobio teacher changed tracks from medical to engineering at semester, and therefore is no longer required to spend her afternoons teaching Jim Kirk and the rest of SSS the subtle yet important difference between Romulans and Remans. Her replacement is another first year cadet, only the grapevine says not human. Jim was kind of looking forward to the change, because he's never had an alien instructor before. He and Isaac Menjievar set up a betting pool as to whether it'll be a Deltan or an Orion slavegirl.

Instead the alien waiting at the front of the classroom when Jim shows up at 0835 on the nose is a _Vulcan_. Vulcans are about as uninteresting as alien life gets, and within five minutes Cadet Spock proves himself to be no exception. He launches directly into the lesson without an introduction and manages to use the word "fascinating" at least three times in reference to Tellarite molecular biology.

Jim is rescued from this crushing disappointment by Blue Passmore. Blue Passmore isn't actually blue--which is kind of a shame because Jim kind of thinks that might be really hot--but she is a sophomore, and she paints her nails bright pink, and he likes the way her hair catches the light. And she wears see-through shirts that show the color of her bra if you sit behind her in a morning class, like Jim does. Also she apparently wants to meet Jim in the hedge maze behind the Astrophysics building at 1700.

He enters yes into his PADD underlined in all caps, and then hits send. Then he saves her message and forwards it to Isaac, because he'll never believe this without solid proof.

The curve of Blue's cheek as she smiles slowly down at her own PADD is strangely compelling, as is the outline of her bra (bright green today) vanishing into the gauze of her shirt, and—he shifts a little in his chair—the crescent of skin where her pants ride down every time she leans forward in her chair. Jim stretches forward himself, and wonders what she would do if he traced his stylus over the small of her back.

"Mr. Kirk," the Vulcan says, clearly not for the first time, and Jim jerks his focus back to the front of the class. A face that manages to be both blank and annoyed stares back at him. "I require your full attention be given to Tellarite biology at this time."

"But Cadet Spock," Jim says easily, feeling Blue's eyes on him, "Terran biology can be _just_ as_ fascinating,_ wouldn't you agree?"

A raised eyebrow. "Yet it is not the focus of today's lesson, or indeed of this course."

"But wouldn't it be awesome if it was?" Jim counters, looking sideways at Blue. "I'd take a class on _that_ in a heartbeat."

She giggles, and he feels a rush of warmth in his chest.

"It is available," Cadet Spock says smoothly, "as Biology 102, which was a required course for all ninth year students last semester, although it apparently did not make a great impression on you, Mr. Kirk."

There is a small laugh around the class, and Jim sits back in his chair, grinning at Blue. "Yeah, but that was all textbook. I'd like a more…hands on approach."

"Also available, as Biology Tutorial 456 where students assist classes at the Academy in dissection of terran cadavers," Cadet Spock says, barely pausing for breath. "If you wish to know more, I suggest you avail yourself of a coursebook. For now, return your attention to chapter 28 of _Advanced Tellarusian Molecular Processes_." He returns to the front of the classroom and meets Jim's eyes. "And Mr. Kirk, please see me after class."

Jim gets detention. Not surprising, considering the whole Vulcan thing, but not the way Jim would have liked to start the day. In the end, though, it's not important, because the detention is scheduled for 1710, and there's no way Jim's making _that _appointment.

Instead he meets Blue, as planned, in the hedge maze behind the Astrophysics building. It's a perfect meeting place, since nobody ever goes there except other SSS kids with not very understanding roommates. And the occasional Academy professor, of course, but Jim's more than willing to take that chance.

"I thought you had detention," Blue says when he gets there, hooking her fingers into his belt loops.

"I decided to skip it," he smirks, and kisses her.

She lets him feel under her shirt, and after he squeezes her breasts for a minute she slides one hand down the front of his pants. He comes into her pink fingernailed hand forty five seconds later, and that's it: his first orgasm in front of another person, ever. He feels a rush in his head that just might be love. She pulls her hand out of his pants and for a second Jim feels another interested twitch because his _come_ is in between her _fingers_—and then she starts laughing, and he is mortified.

"Oh my god, Jimmy," she snickers, "Was that your first time?"

His face is burning, and he wants nothing more than to fall off the edge of a cliff and die, but he's already been there and done that, so instead he gives her a huge insincere smile. "Of course it was. You don't think you're that good, do you?"

It's his turn to laugh while she sputters, and then he kisses her on the cheek and walks away, leaving her standing there with a messy hand and a suddenly furious expression.

He shows up at detention ten minutes late with a flushed face and rumpled hair, underwear drying uncomfortably against his skin. He pretty much hates his life.

"You are late," Cadet Spock informs him without looking up from his PADD. "The scope of your detention is extended to include tomorrow afternoon as well."

"Give me detention every day this year, I don't care," Jim says, and that does get him a look.

"I had hoped to spend my afternoons engaged in more interesting activities, but if it becomes necessary, I will not hesitate to do so," Cadet Spock says sternly.

"Yeah, well, I really hoped you were going to be an Orion slavegirl," Jim shrugs, sitting down and pulling out his homework. "Today's just shitty, I guess."

Cadet Spock looks at him for a moment, sets down his PADD and proceeds to give a fifty minute lecture on current Federation affairs surrounding the Orion slave trade and manages to keep Jim completely engaged, to his own surprise. By the end of the hour, not only is Jim grudgingly sorry for the bet with Isaac, he's about ten times more interested in Federation politics than he's ever been before. He's almost convinced that this pointy eared bastard, at least, might not be as boring as he seems.

"Do not forget, Mr. Kirk. Your detention begins promptly at 1700 tomorrow."

"Yeah," Jim says, and casts the Vulcan one more appraising look. He gets a raised eyebrow back. "I'll be there."

He shows up the next day, ten minutes late.

_Fifteen_

At the beginning of Jim's sophomore year, Spock stops calling them detentions and starts calling them tutorial sessions, which means they only meet three times a week and Jim has to write papers on their discussions, but he doesn't really mind. Besides,_ Federation Politics and Philosophy_ is probably doing a lot more for his academic record than two solid years of daily detentions.

"Hey Spock," he says one day, tossing his bag on the floor. "Can I ask you a question?"

"The use of appropriate titles in this facility is not optional, Mr. Kirk. And yes, of course you may," Spock deadpans.

"Okay, we're not even going to argue about that today, this is way too important," Jim declares, scooting his chair up against Spock's desk. He waits for Spock to set his work aside, and then comes straight out with it.

"Are you half human?"

Spock freezes for a moment—nothing your average person would notice, but Jim likes to think he's got a better handle on SSS' resident Vulcan than most people. "Yes," he says after a short pause. "I am."

Jim bursts into a grin. "You're shitting me, right? That's awesome!"

Spock's mouth thins. "Your language is once again inappropriate to this setting. And my racial diversity is not in any way relevant to my capacity to act as your instructor."

"No, it's not—but it's still kind of cool," Jim argues. "I mean, here the whole school's thinking you're the quintessential green blooded hobgoblin, and it turns out that you're half Canadian!" Saying it aloud makes him laugh again in sheer amusement.

"How did you know that my mother is from Canada, Mr. Kirk?"

"I sat in on a lecture at the Academy the other day." To watch a girl, but Spock didn't need to know that. "They were talking about hybrid technology, and one of the T.A.s brought up Amanda Grayson's case. And I thought it might be you." Jim looked at Spock curiously. "Are you seriously the only Vulcan/Human hybrid ever?"

That had Spock's eyebrow up with a vengeance. "In all seriousness, I am. I am curious as to what caused you to come to the conclusion that I, out of the six billion Vulcans in the galaxy, must be the one human hybrid in existence."

"Well," Jim smiled. "Your eyebrows are really expressive, sometimes."

Spock's hand twitched just slightly on the desk, as though he were about to smooth the curve right out of his brow, but caught himself before he did.

"But it was probably just a lucky guess," Jim added quickly. "You're totally awesome at being a Vulcan. Half Vulcan. A teacher. Whatever, you're awesome."

"I appreciate your confidence," Spock said dryly. Jim thinks the tiny twist at the corners of Spock's mouth when he's being doubtful is really hilarious. It's his "I'm a Vulcan, an adult and your instructor, I actually know more than you on any subject you care to name, so you should probably shut up and listen to me" face. It's also sort of fond though, Jim's pretty sure.

"Surprisingly, I believe your topic of choice has not drawn us too far away from my original plan for today's discussion." And then Spock does that thing Jim loves where he smiles with his eyes. "What have you previously been taught about I.D.I.C.?"

Apparently not enough, judging by the several thousand pages of reading Jim takes home and the extra three classes Spock decides is necessary to fully cover the subject. It's all—to coin a phrase—fascinating stuff though, and Jim doesn't hesitate to put it to practical use the next chance he gets. Which happens to be at the Halloween party Jim's Irish nemesis Finnegan throws in Turing House, a week later. A bunch of townies crash, along with a boatload of off-planet students on an educational trip.

Tana is Andorian, which apparently means that after a night of dirty dancing under the strobe lights in Finnegan's kitchen she's willing to follow Jim back to his cramped dorm room and let him run careful fingers across her antennae.

"This is so exciting!" she says brightly in between kisses. "I wrote a paper on human sexual interaction when I was at primary, but I never thought I'd get to see so much of it up close!"

"Blue is my second favorite color after green," he tells her inanely, and she giggles, pulling away for a second to strip her tunic off.

"Okay," she says, leaning back on the pillows. "How do you want me?"

Jim licks his lips. "Well, you know what the Vulcans say." She laughs aloud at that, and he raises a cocky eyebrow at her. "There are infinite combinations."

_ Sixteen _

Junior year is awesome. Jim builds a motorcycle from scratch, convinces Isaac to trawl some outworlder bars with him on regular Fridays, and mysteriously winds up joining chess club.

"I'm not here," he announces to the room of comicbook geeks and Retinax using nerds on his first day. "Because I am obviously way too cool for you nerds, and you are obviously too weak to withstand the full force of my awesome. And if I can't be here, and you can't bear me to be here, nobody else ever finds out that I'm in chess club. We clear?"

"I don't know him," Isaac says apologetically from beside him. "He's just a random crazy person who followed me in here. And is in no way shape or form is he my best friend. At all." He gives Jim a clap on the shoulder and abandons him for a quiet, nerdy looking girl with a three dimensional chess set.

The group turns out to be uneven, actually, so Jim is left sitting across the board from the club's advisor.

"I am going to kick your half Vulcan ass," Jim says happily, making the first move.

"Your language, overall demeanor and use of idiom are wildly inappropriate," Spock says sternly. Elegant fingers hover over his pieces, then settle on a knight. There's an amused quirk to his mouth. "And I highly doubt the veracity of your statement."

Yeah, junior year is pretty great. He's taking two classes with Spock now—_Intermediate Warp Theory,_ which is Spock's last seminar before he fulfills his teaching requirement, and their tutorial, which is called _Astrophysics and Military Strategy_ this year. He gets good grades too, along with what he'd like to think of as Spock's respect, which is honesty pretty sweet. He works his ass off, but for once in his life it feels worth it.

Everything's so great, actually, that he totally forgets about March until it's already there.

Jim always misses classes on March 22nd. Nobody ever really notices, as far as he can tell—it's not like he doesn't play hooky at fairly regular intervals the rest of the year just for the fuck of it. He hasn't thought about it much, but he guesses he doesn't miss Spock's classes that often, which might go a little way towards explaining the series of waves Jim gets when he misses two weeks in a row starting March 10th.

"Mr. Kirk. Daily attendance is preferable. Your assignments have been sent to your SSS profile."

"Mr. Kirk. It is considered appropriate to send word if you do not plan on attending your tutorial so that your instructor does not waste his entire afternoon waiting on your arrival, as I have for our last three meetings. Understand that this will affect your overall grade. Your assignments have been sent to your SSS profile."

"Mr. Kirk. Are you ill? Please respond."

"Mr. Kirk. This is the fifth tutorial session you've missed, and the third class meeting. Am I to assume you no longer wish to be enrolled in these courses? I cannot make exceptions. Please respond."

"Mr. Kirk. If you require any assistance, I shall endeavor to be of whatever aid I can. Please respond."

Jim doesn't reply to any of them, because that would mean he'd actually have to go near his mail center, and that isn't something he plans on doing anytime soon.

Instead he shuts himself in his room for a week with as many bottles of hard alcohol he could steal from the rest of the dorm, and tries not to think about her message.

On the 22nd that stops working, as it always does, so Jim stumbles out of his room and tries to make his way out of the dorm. He has vague thoughts of the city, of sleazy downtown bars, of hot bodies that could make him forget. He doesn't get as far as the window before he's arrested by the view from the lawn. Classes must have just got out, and in and amongst the busy throng of teenage bodies, a familiar form makes his graceful way out of the quad. Red cadet uniform standing out against the cacophony of teenage fashion, stupid sleek haircut, barest hint of pointed ears. Jim doesn't know what to do with the sudden ache that hits the center of his chest, or the tightness in his throat. He does know that it _hurts,_ especially since he already feels like he's been punched in the stomach for ten days straight.

Standing suddenly seems far too difficult, so he collapses against the wall, breath coming in shallow, panicked puffs against the window. He stays there until Spock is out of sight, and he probably would have stayed there for a lot longer if Finnegan hadn't come down the hall.

"Kirk!" A hand slams into the wall next to Jim's shoulder, and he gives it a distracted glance. "Did you steal my bottle of Saurian brandy?" Finnegan asks threateningly. His face is close to Jim's, and he looks pissed off.

"Yeah," Jim says. He rolls his shoulders against the wall, and feels faintly like he's going to be sick.

Finnegan yells something else, face turning red, but Jim's not paying any attention. He lunges forward and crushes their mouths together.

It's a pretty bad kiss by Jim's standards, but he remembers to do the thing with his tongue at the end, and he's pretty sure he feels Finnegan shiver against him. He shapes his mouth into a smile, and pulls back.

"Hey, Finnegan," he says. Finnegan doesn't respond, but keeps staring at Jim, red faced and stunned. "You want a blowjob?"

Sucking cock is easier than Jim thought it would be. It feels hard and slightly spongey under his tongue, and the taste isn't as bad as he'd thought. Sex is sex, after all, and it's not like he'd never thought about it with a guy before. Maybe once or twice he'd thought about Isaac like that, wondered what he would be like.

But Isaac has a girlfriend and Finnegan is here, gasping on the edge of his bed while Jim digs his knees into the floor of Finnegan's dorm room and licks up his dick.

It's pretty easy to get Finnegan off, although Jim has no idea what to do with the jizz that's suddenly making him gag. The rest shoots all over his face, warm and wet on his cheeks like tears.

Finnegan presses trembling hands to Jim's hair, and says in a dazed voice "Shit. I had no idea you were into that."

Jim's cock is still hard, but he gets up anyway. "Yeah, well, it's my birthday."

He goes back to his room and watches the message again. Yellow hair going gray, hated blue uniform, a face he hasn't seen for six years. None of the other birthdays mattered, why should this one?

Her voice is cut off by the notification sound of a new wave coming in. He doesn't answer it, but stays staring at the monitor as the new image slides over his mother's face.

"Mr. Kirk." Spock's voice is sharp and tight. "If I do not hear from you in the next twenty four hours, I am going to inform security that I believe you to be suffering from a medical emergency. Please—"

Jim hits respond, and Spock breaks off, something like relief flashing through his eyes so quickly that Jim can't be sure it was there to begin with.

"I'm fine, Spock," he says tiredly. "I'm great."

_Sixteen, Again_

Jim and Finnegan fuck more or less continuously for the rest of junior year. Jim hadn't thought it would be more than a one time thing since he's hated Finnegan's superior guts since the first day they met, but apparently Finnegan felt differently. Out of the blue he started showing up at Jim's room offering sex, and after the first few times Jim stops questioning it. It isn't until he starts hanging out with Jim in the common rooms and inviting Jim to the city with him and he stops playing shitty pranks on Isaac and Marlena that Jim realizes Finnegan thinks they're _together _ together. After a while Isaac convinces him this is something to feel guilty about.

"You know I don't like you, right?" he blurts out the night before finals week. He's writing an essay on the eugenics war, using Finnegan's back for a desk. He's having a little trouble concentrating, and he's sure the work reflects it. _Dear Spock, I was going to rant about General Rickli's totally retarded military strategy for ten pages, but then I got worried that the guy I'm sleeping with might like me. How's that for illogical?_ He presses his forehead into the small of Finnegan's back and tries for total honesty. "I mean, I actually think you're an asshole."

"Fuck you too, Kirk," Finnegan says in a muffled voice, not lifting his head from Jim's pillow.

"No, seriously," Jim says. "I've hated you from day one. Which was also the day when you stuck a bowl of cold soup in my bed, by the way."

"Man up," Finnegan stretches, upsetting Jim's PADD. "That was fucking aeons ago. Could you be more of a twelve year old g--Ow!" he jerks as Jim scratches him with the stylus in revenge. "What the hell?"

"You messed up my PADD," Jim mutters.

"You're fucked up, you know that?" Finnegan flips around on his back to glare.

"Fuck you, Finnegan, I'm being serious," Jim says, and stabs the stylus into his PADD with more force than strictly necessary. "You get it?"

Finnegan rolls his eyes. "Do I get that you're with me because you figured out you like dick, and not because you're in love with me? Yeah, Kirk, I kind of figured that out. I'm not an idiot."

"And you don't care." Jim is finding this hard to believe. Isaac's lecture had been pretty impressive.

Finnegan's eyes narrow and in one quick movement he has Jim pressed into the bed, Jim's PADD digging into both of their ribs.

"Of course I care," Finnegan growls. He pries one hand between their bodies and retrieves the PADD, tossing it to the side. "And _so do you_. The question is, are you ever going to grow up and admit it?"

Jim is angry enough to kiss Finnegan hard enough to bruise and tilt his hips so that Finnegan settles naturally between them. "Well," he says. "There are always possibilities."

The last paragraph entered onto the PADD reads:

Despite this, the lunar colony remained largely unaffected, largely due to Spock, I wish I could ask you. I know what I have to do, and I know it's illogical to ask you questions that I've already made up my mind about, but I want the emotional security. And no, that's not stupid, that's human, which you're half of. Sometimes I wish you were more human. I wish you| 

Jim stays with Finnegan until halfway through the summer, and lets him cup one hand around the back of Jim's neck when they're in public, and kiss him on the dance floors of downtown clubs.

It's in July when they get their course packets that it dawns on Jim that Spock's teaching requirement is over, and he won't be back the next fall.

"Indeed not," Spock says when Jim waves him about this absurdity. "My requirement is fulfilled. Furthermore as I am graduating in the winter, it would be a most unproductive use of my time."

"But you could do it anyway?" Jim seizes. He ignores the stab of guilt that says Spock's already been spending more time at SSS than is strictly required, thanks to Jim.

"I do not believe so," Spock says, not unkindly. "I'm afraid my current selection of classes makes it impossible."

"But who am I going to—" talk to, Jim doesn't say. "Play chess with?"

"There are sixteen more than adequate partners in the organization who would be more than willing to play with you."

"But they won't be you," Jim says flatly.

"No," Spock agrees. "They will not."

"So, that's it?" Jim asks, starting to get angry and knowing that he has no right to. "You're just going to leave, and I don't get to see you again?"

"I would hardly say that," Spock says quickly. "If you continue on the course you have set for yourself, I have no doubt that you will be admitted into the Academy in a year's time. I have no intention of leaving San Fransisco any time in the next several years, so it is only logical to assume that we shall interact with each other again."

"If I get in," Jim repeats bitterly. "How do you know I even want to go? My stepdad made me come here, it's not like Starfleet was my _choice_ or anything—fuck, maybe I'll go back to Iowa and build _motorcycles_, I could--" he is interrupted by a single word, but it makes his heart stop in his chest.

"Jim," Spock says quietly. "Whatever you choose, I shall be proud of you."

Jim almost thinks that one sentence could last him the rest of the year. He holds it inside him the entire way to Finnegan's room, which is when the rest of it comes bursting through.

He will not see Spock every day. Not talk to him about whatever, not be challenged and frustrated and pissed off and amused and _happy,_ really fucking stupidly happy, every day. Not feel that tight ache in his chest irritating the shit out of him for fifty minutes every twenty four hours, the sheer joy at coaxing out an ironic word, an amused glance, an unguarded look?

Jim curls himself in a ball, and lets Finnegan fuck him.

They're both pretty far gone when Finnegan stops, dick still hard and twitching inside Jim's ass. "Hey," he asks, voice uneven. "What's wrong?" And that's when Jim realizes he's shaking, and it's definitely not from pleasure.

"Nothing," Jim rasps, as if Finnegan might not recognize what the shuddering heaves of his back mean.

And Finnegan might be stupid and arrogant and Irish and oblivious, but he presses one hand very softly to the center of Jim's chest, and Jim sobs aloud.

"Say my name," Jim begs.

"Jim," Finnegan says, and kisses his shoulder.

"Again."

_Jim_ is a desperate mantra in his ears when he comes. There's a moment of white intensity that breaks Jim into a thousand shattering pieces, and a high pitched whine and a name burst out of him.

"_Spock_!"

The body behind him freezes.

"What," Finnegan asks, low, hurt, shocked. But he heard.

Jim goes limp, and wishes he would die.

 

_Seventeen_

Senior year sucks, and it's not because he broke up with his boyfriend, or because his supposed best friend wound up taking said boyfriend's side, or because he has senioritis just like everybody else. It's not even because of that word _Jim_ carried safe inside his chest, that shines like all the hope in the galaxy some days and scrapes against his ribcage like a Cardassian throwing star other days.

It's because all the parties suck.

This is absolutely the reason why Jim decides to crash the Starfleet Academy Winter Ball and lose himself in the throng of cadets going wild with post finals tension. He's beyond delighted at the open bar, the happy crush of bodies and the way he blends in because for once, no one's wearing uniforms.

He sets about getting very, very drunk and finds the prettiest human he can see—a girl with legs that go up for miles and gorgeous golden cleavage and a shiny pink smile—and dances with her. He shimmies himself against her body and listens to the bright sound of her laughter and absolutely doesn't look over her shoulder for tapered eyebrows and a bowl haircut.

He wouldn't be here anyway, this isn't his _thing,_ Jim knows, and he's so utterly convinced that he actually stumbles into his dance partner when he finds what he's looking for.

Spock, standing stiffly by the bar, head tilted down to talk with a blonde cadet in a tiny black dress.

"Sorry," Jim says apologetically to his dance partner, patting vaguely at her shoulder. "I have to go."

He doesn't stay to listen to her reply, just pushes himself blindly forwards through the crowd.

"Spock!" he bursts out when he gets to the bar.

Spock turns, eyes widening when he sees Jim. "Mr. Kirk," he says blankly.

"Spock," Jim says, not caring that he's already said that because _here_ is Spock's stupid hair, shiny and black and the same as ever, and here is Spock's mouth, curved and emotionless and tempting, and his shoulders, and his awkward nose, and his hands, and the shadows over his eyes that drive Jim crazy, they always have, here is _Spock_.

The blonde cadet appears from around Spock, smiling. "I'm Carol. I don't believe we've met?"

"He is a student of mine," Spock says quickly.

"_Former_ student," Jim emphasizes.

"A student at Starfleet Secondary School who is in no way authorized to be at this venue." Spock raises his eyebrow, and god, Jim has _missed _that.

"That's true," Jim agrees, grinning broadly. "But I like it here. Spock."

"That does not make it any more acceptable, Mr. Kirk."

"Call me Jim," Jim says pleadingly. "I liked it when you did before."

Carol-the-blonde-cadet is raising her eyebrows too, but she doesn't look nearly as interesting as Spock when she does it. "I assume you're going to deal with this now?" she asks, which doesn't make much sense to Jim.

"Affirmative," Spock replies, casting her a quick glance.

She nods. "I'll see you in class." And then she leaves.

"Spock," Jim interjects, wanting Spock's eyes back on him, "You should really dance with me."

Spock actually sighs. "Not possible. Please follow me," he says, and starts to walk away, slowly, so that Jim can keep up.

When Jim stumbles, Spock stops and actually _puts a hand on Jim's shoulder _to steady him. Jim can feel his heartbeat pounding everywhere—in his head, in his stomach, in his dick—but Spock leaves the hand on his shoulder as he navigates them through the crowd, and it's just a _hand_, for christ's sake, but Jim can't even _breathe._

"Where are we going?" he asks when they're out of the ballroom and into the hallway. The sound of the music is muted but still present, bursting into existence whenever someone opens the door.

The hand tightens on his shoulder for just a second, and Jim shivers, his lips parting automatically.

"I am escorting you back to the Secondary School campus," Spock tells him, and keeps propelling them forward.

"No, let's not," Jim says firmly. "It would be much more awesome if we stayed here." And he stops dead still, considers sitting on the floor to make his point.

"This is not your decision," Spock tells him, and his hand drops away. Jim makes a bereft noise and steps in closer to Spock, hoping for it to come back.

"Step away from me, Mr. Kirk," Spock says quietly. His mouth is very close.

"It would be _really_ awesome if you danced with me," Jim says, looking up from Spock's mouth to his eyes. They are wide, dilated, and Jim can't remember what that means in Spock-ese. "I'm a really fucking good dancer," he adds hopefully, giving a tiny shimmy to demonstrate.

Another sigh, a small puff of air against Jim's nose. "Jim," Spock begins, and whatever he was going to say after that is lost, because at that word Jim loses control. He makes a small, inarticulate sound and reaches, arms wrapping around Spock's back and head tucking itself into Spock's neck.

He has time for about two seconds of bliss—Spock's body harder and softer than anything he's ever felt before, and he could swear he feels Spock's hands tighten against his ribs. It's better than Jim dreamed this could feel—the world sharpens to just this, just them, and he kisses the throbbing pulse against his lips. He moans helplessly into Spock's neck, and then his two seconds are up.

Spock rips himself away, white and shocked and the set of his mouth is furious. And that makes Jim angry too, because it's been _years_ and Spock's not even his _teacher_ anymore and it's not_ fair_.

"Come on," Jim feels his ears burning and knows his voice is too loud, "I know you don't think of me as a kid."

"No," says Spock, finally. "I do not."

Something splits open in Jim's chest like triumph.

"I think of you as my student." Spock's eyes are intense and focused, the naked truth in them slamming into Jim like a freighter. 

Jim wants to scream, or cry with frustration. Instead he hears his voice come out soft and wobbly. He hates it. "But I'm not anymore." He wants to hurt back, to take this ugly thing inside him and get it out. _What's it like not to feel anything? Friendship, or love, or heartbreak? Fuck you, Spock, the rest of us aren't that lucky. _

Spock just looks at him with human eyes, brown and honest and painful, and Jim can't say it. Jim loves him for those eyes, but he wishes they didn't have to hurt so much.

"Yes," Spock says gently. "You are."

He takes Jim home.

There's a second at the entrance to the dorms, when Jim is leaning against the turbolift and Spock is turning to go, when Jim says it.

"So you don't care." The words twist in his mouth, and he can't meet Spock's eyes.

"Jim," Spock says with a small sigh. "You cannot keep pressing this. It is fair to neither one of us." 

"I just," Jim says, because he's always had to push, and because he's just drunk enough to be vulnerable instead of vicious, "I just, I guess, I thought maybe you did. That's all." He winces even as he gets it out, and squeezes his eyes shut.   
  
He opens them when he feels a gentle pressure. Spock has stepped back in, and is very softly resting a hand on Jim's shoulder.   
  
"You were not incorrect," Spock says with extreme care, his eyes close and brown and intent. "You are cared for." His fingers tighten briefly on Jim's shoulder, and Jim fights back a shiver. "But you must respect my answer."

Jim nods, wordlessly, and Spock lets his hand slip away, and heads to the door.   
  
"So, so that's a no?" Jim asks at the last second, because he's never known when to quit. 

Spock pauses at the door. "At the very least," he says levelly, "It is 'not yet.'" 

Jim gapes, and Spock vanishes.   
  
He gets himself off that night to the memory of Spock's arms around him, Spock's pulse against his lips, Spock's perfect nearly impassive face and soft hand on Jim's shoulder. He comes, and then grins helplessly at the dark, Spock's last words playing over and over again in his head.   
_  
There is no such thing as a no-win scenario_, Jim thinks with perfect clarity, and lets his eyes drift shut. 

_Eighteen_

Graduation comes as a surprise. Jim supposes some small part of him still thought Iowa would catch up with him someday. That he'd never be allowed to get this far. What's even more surprising are the ribbons draped around his neck, and the Academy acceptance letter folded into his diploma. He guesses being the protégé of a Vulcan must have paid off sometime in between all the sex and drinking.

He's not sure he really believes he's here, at the top of his class and halfway down the second row, listening to an admiral tell his class about the amazing futures in store for all of them.

But whether he believes it or not, he is here, and there's a hell of a lot further to go. There's a whole galaxy out there, a thousand possibilities, a thousand stars and suns all filled with humans and Andorians and Tellurites and Orion slavers and Orion slavegirls and Vulcans who love logic and Vulcans who love humans and all kinds of people Jim's never slept with or talked to or dreamed of. He can't _ wait. _

"Please welcome the class of 2251."

There's a roar of applause, and it can't even bother Jim that it's all other people's parents and relatives out there cheering, because he's _here_ and that's amazing. He throws his hat into the air, and there's suddenly a lot of hugging going on—Isaac, arms tight around him, demanding that Jim doesn't forget him up there in the command track, that they'll still be friends at the Academy—Marlena, crying and telling him to just _try_ to grab her ass and that she'll miss him—Finnegan, awkward and emotional and ruffling his hair with a "Now you be good, Kirk," and Jim almost doesn't know what to do with himself.

After a while more family members start getting in on the hugs, and Jim extricates himself and goes to look through the rest of the crowd. He finds Spock at the back, of course. They've spoken a few times by wave since the Winter ball, but this is the first time they've met in person. Jim takes a second before approaching to drink in the sight of him: a tall figure dressed all in black, hands clasped gracefully behind his back and eyes that are locked on Jim.

"Spock," he greets him, a smile tugging helplessly at his lips.

"Mr. Kirk," Spock replies, and Jim might protest the use of his last name if he couldn't see the uplifted corners of Spock's eyes that mean Spock wants to smile too. "My congratulations."

"I, uh, I couldn't have done it without you," Jim offers.

"Inaccurate," Spock corrects gently. "You are a very talented student, and would have excelled without my assistance. You will do service to the Academy, should you choose to accept their admittance."

"Thanks," Jim says, and suddenly knows that he can't say everything he needs to in this room, surrounded by so many of his friends and teachers and enemies. He looks carefully into Spock's face. "Walk with me?"

Spock nods his assent, and they make their way out of the auditorium together. The quad is empty. It doesn't feel smaller or obsolete or anything, just very well known. And Jim's realizing that he's ready for the unknown and all the scary beautiful awesome complicated shit that comes with it.

"So, do I seriously have to go to the Academy now?" Jim asks, only somewhat playfully. He tilts his head backwards and smiles up at the stars. "'Cause I gotta tell you, Spock, I feel ready to skip the next four years and go straight up."

"That is entirely possible," Spock says seriously. "Take a transport to one of the colonies. Join a mercantile company which operates within the solar system. The Tellurisian Mining Company is seeking workers willing to travel to the Beta Quadrant. You have not yet officially enlisted in Starfleet. All of these things and more are possible for you."

"But none of those possibilities mean I get to see it all," Jim says, still looking up. "I don't want to farm things or mine things or sell things up there. I just want to go and _talk_ to them, Spock. All those people." It's not nearly as eloquent as he sounded in his head, but Jim thinks Spock gets it, because a Vulcan hand reaches up and tilts his head back down.

"If this is the case," Spock says quietly, his forefinger and thumb still gently touching Jim's chin, "Then I propose that you enlist in Starfleet, in the command track as planned. In four years I have no doubt that you will be made an officer. An exploratory mission under Captain Pike is scheduled to launch at that time."

"And are you gonna be there too?" Jim asks, his heart pounding so loudly in his chest that he's afraid it might break the moment, the campus streetlamps, Spock's fingers on his skin.

"That is my hope, yes," Spock admits, and begins to drop his hand. Jim catches it halfway down, and Spock's indrawn breath is better than sex, better than anything.

"Spock," Jim begins, and it's just as awkward and hard to say as he'd feared it would be, but he's Jim Kirk. He strokes Spock's thumb for courage, and then says it anyway. "I'm kind of in love with you."

"I am not unaware of your conviction, Cadet Kirk. You have been far from subtle." Spock's face is ordered and calm as ever, and for a second Jim's heart freezes in his chest, but then he notices the amused tilt of Spock's mouth and he gasps in relief.

"You're fucking with me!" Jim says with equal parts amazement and outrage.

"I am not." But Spock squeezes his hand, and Jim decides to take it as an apology.

"So…you're okay with that," Jim guesses.

"I am," Spock says quickly.

"And…" Jim can't say it. Spock being Vulcan is only the tip of the iceberg of reasons not to ask _And how do you feel about me?_

"And I intend to continue our acquaintance," Spock says carefully, "if it is amenable to you."

Jim kisses him. Softly, carefully, just a closemouthed press of lips. After a moment, Spock kisses back, and brings his other hand around to cup the back of Jim's head. Spock makes a small sound into his mouth, and Jim thinks he might explode with sheer joy.

They separate after a minute, and Jim thinks he might be physically glowing.

"There is a long way to go yet," Spock warns, though his voice is soft. "This will not be easy, for either of us." His lips are faintly green and swollen and their hands are warm together, and Jim can't help but laugh and kiss him again.

Jim knows he's not getting laid tonight, or probably any time in the near future. This is going to suck, in a whole lot of ways except the sexual one, and Jim's probably not going to feel any less frustrated or irritated or confused than he's felt for the whole of this year. And he's not going to grow up any faster, because he's young and illogical and he probably drives Spock crazy in that repressed Vulcan way of his, but he has no doubt that this is going to work anyway. Because Spock's mouth is warm and close, and because this feels better than anything he has ever known before.

"I already thought of that," Jim smiles against Spock's cheek a moment later. "We can totally handle it. I'm Jim and you're Spock. It's going to be great."

Spock strokes Jim's hand with his thumb, smiles with his eyes, and makes no answer.


End file.
